My 4 year old dell crashed on me about a month go. I lost all of my pictures from my entire semester abroad (save those on facebook) all of my music, school work, resume, drafts of essays for applications such as Teach for America, Peace Corps, etc. etc.... Basically my entire life.
Luckily, my trusty iPod had the music and pictures from London (why none of my travel pictures are on there is still baffling me) and so they're safe in some form.
For Christmas, my parents got me a new MacBook. I'm kind of in love with it, except for the fact that because my iPod is formatted to a PC, I have no way of transferring my music or pictures on to it.
If anyone, ANYONE AT ALL, (As I have no idea who reads this) has any way to fix this for me, I would be eternally grateful.
I've got the music part mostly down, but it involves a 256mb flash drive, my family's computer, and a lot of time.
The pictures are still a mystery.
Otherwise, once you go Mac, you never go back.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
tripping
Have you ever just tripped on absolutely nothing?
I just did, on a smooth tile floor in a pair of Uggs. I'm ashamed.
I just did, on a smooth tile floor in a pair of Uggs. I'm ashamed.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Addicted to Intervention (the irony slays me)
Is it just me, or is there is nothing more satisfying than watching the unfolding drug addiction of someone you'll never ever meet? I've becoming more and more addicted to this show. It's a trainwreck for about 45 minutes, and then suddenly (thanks to Jeff VonDerVanDerSonSen) these people go to rehab and HORRAY! They're happy and healthy again!
Except for when they get kicked out for drug abuse or bad behavior... that's when it's just sad and I feel bad for the family.
My favorite episode is this one about a guy who kinda looks like and eskimo named Hubert. He's a raging alcoholic, lives on the street, and rolls around the ground like a fat caterpillar! So precious! But he ends up really happy and with a good job in the long run. Though it is kinda sad, cause once he sobers up he loses all of the bloating and looks less like an eskimo and more like a normal person.
Anyway, watch it, it's on A&E on Mondays. You will not be disappointed.
I should get paid for advertising space.
Except for when they get kicked out for drug abuse or bad behavior... that's when it's just sad and I feel bad for the family.
My favorite episode is this one about a guy who kinda looks like and eskimo named Hubert. He's a raging alcoholic, lives on the street, and rolls around the ground like a fat caterpillar! So precious! But he ends up really happy and with a good job in the long run. Though it is kinda sad, cause once he sobers up he loses all of the bloating and looks less like an eskimo and more like a normal person.
Anyway, watch it, it's on A&E on Mondays. You will not be disappointed.
I should get paid for advertising space.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
An open letter to the patch of gray hair I found on above my right ear.
To the keratin growing out of my scalp:
Now, it may be partly my fault because I dye you different colors too frequently, but ever since I stopped stealing adderol and ritalin from my (imaginary) little brother, I get bored easily. The decision to grow you out to your natural (mousy) brown was something I thought long and hard about. I know you liked being red. Lindsay Lohan made ginger kids cool. But that stopped being hip once Li-Lo dyed hers blonde and started getting in car crashes and doing cocaine off of 30 year old Japanese and lesbian DJ's (thus proving the blondes have more fun theory).
After about three months of not dying you I found the first gray hair. It was in my bangs, hiding amongst the most visible part of my hairstyle. I thought to myself, "It's okay, it's just one hair. Everyone finds at least one by the time they're 20. Right? Right." So I yanked that shit out faster than K-Fed after he realized Britney was pregnant again. All was well.
Then, this past weekend I was getting ready for a wedding that I was already nervous about because it was for my older brother's best friend who I have always been madly in love with. Like, when he used to sleep over when they were in middle school, I would handcuff myself to the couch and insist that mom and dad allowed me to watch Beavis and Butthead with them. Naturally, I would laugh when they laughed, and they would mute the TV at the commercials and ask me thought-provoking questions about why the show was funny. My little seven year old head could not comprehend anything past the fart jokes, let alone the weed jokes, and I would cry and be unable to leave because I was handcuffed to the couch. God he was so hot. He also used to tell me that only Genies ate flan, and since I didn't like flan, I wasn't cool enough to be a genie. God he's hot.
So anyway, I wanted to look super sexy at his wedding, so he realizes the huge mistake he made in not marrying me. I was straightening you like a normal human being, and then I saw it. This web of GRAY on the right side of my head. We're talking a full on skunk spot that rivals my 1st grade teacher Mrs. Steinberg's giant gray tuft. It wasn't cool looking either, like Rogue, mainly because I didn't endure impending death to achieve my new found lack of pigment. It was just ugly. And to make matters worse, the gray stopped about two inches down because I was growing you out and trying to be au natural for once.
So what did I do first? I think you can remember. I screamed. Really loud. For my mom. I asked her when she found her first hair. She said 33. I said what the fuck, come look at this. She examined my head and then laughed and said sucks for you. I then screamed for my dad. When did you first find your first gray hair. He said he couldn't remember but not when he was still in college. I called my brother (who is 28). He said I was a freak and that he didn't have any grey's yet. So I stared long and hard and came to a decision. I must be related to John Henson or Steve Martin. No one rocks the gray quite like Steve, and the skunk spot was put on the map with Henson of Talk Soup fame (not to be confused with The Soup, which is good, but doesn't have the same zing of it's father episodes). But I digress.
Hair, your job is to find my real birth father. I'm kind of hoping it's John Henson, cause that would mean my mom is a total cougar, which gives me bragging rights among my Fraternized friends. Who knows how long I've had this skunk spot for? I've been dying my hair various shades of red and brown since the 10th grade, and now as I am on the threshold of true American legality, I find the truth in you, dear spot, which I am slowly growing to appreciate. You could have been around as early as fifteen and I would never know. Luckily I'm a girl and have long hair, so I can hide you until you start getting out of control.
That being said, what sounds better to you, Ash Blonde or Deep Auburn?
With love,
Your body.
Now, it may be partly my fault because I dye you different colors too frequently, but ever since I stopped stealing adderol and ritalin from my (imaginary) little brother, I get bored easily. The decision to grow you out to your natural (mousy) brown was something I thought long and hard about. I know you liked being red. Lindsay Lohan made ginger kids cool. But that stopped being hip once Li-Lo dyed hers blonde and started getting in car crashes and doing cocaine off of 30 year old Japanese and lesbian DJ's (thus proving the blondes have more fun theory).
After about three months of not dying you I found the first gray hair. It was in my bangs, hiding amongst the most visible part of my hairstyle. I thought to myself, "It's okay, it's just one hair. Everyone finds at least one by the time they're 20. Right? Right." So I yanked that shit out faster than K-Fed after he realized Britney was pregnant again. All was well.
Then, this past weekend I was getting ready for a wedding that I was already nervous about because it was for my older brother's best friend who I have always been madly in love with. Like, when he used to sleep over when they were in middle school, I would handcuff myself to the couch and insist that mom and dad allowed me to watch Beavis and Butthead with them. Naturally, I would laugh when they laughed, and they would mute the TV at the commercials and ask me thought-provoking questions about why the show was funny. My little seven year old head could not comprehend anything past the fart jokes, let alone the weed jokes, and I would cry and be unable to leave because I was handcuffed to the couch. God he was so hot. He also used to tell me that only Genies ate flan, and since I didn't like flan, I wasn't cool enough to be a genie. God he's hot.
So anyway, I wanted to look super sexy at his wedding, so he realizes the huge mistake he made in not marrying me. I was straightening you like a normal human being, and then I saw it. This web of GRAY on the right side of my head. We're talking a full on skunk spot that rivals my 1st grade teacher Mrs. Steinberg's giant gray tuft. It wasn't cool looking either, like Rogue, mainly because I didn't endure impending death to achieve my new found lack of pigment. It was just ugly. And to make matters worse, the gray stopped about two inches down because I was growing you out and trying to be au natural for once.
So what did I do first? I think you can remember. I screamed. Really loud. For my mom. I asked her when she found her first hair. She said 33. I said what the fuck, come look at this. She examined my head and then laughed and said sucks for you. I then screamed for my dad. When did you first find your first gray hair. He said he couldn't remember but not when he was still in college. I called my brother (who is 28). He said I was a freak and that he didn't have any grey's yet. So I stared long and hard and came to a decision. I must be related to John Henson or Steve Martin. No one rocks the gray quite like Steve, and the skunk spot was put on the map with Henson of Talk Soup fame (not to be confused with The Soup, which is good, but doesn't have the same zing of it's father episodes). But I digress.
Hair, your job is to find my real birth father. I'm kind of hoping it's John Henson, cause that would mean my mom is a total cougar, which gives me bragging rights among my Fraternized friends. Who knows how long I've had this skunk spot for? I've been dying my hair various shades of red and brown since the 10th grade, and now as I am on the threshold of true American legality, I find the truth in you, dear spot, which I am slowly growing to appreciate. You could have been around as early as fifteen and I would never know. Luckily I'm a girl and have long hair, so I can hide you until you start getting out of control.
That being said, what sounds better to you, Ash Blonde or Deep Auburn?
With love,
Your body.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Famous individuals who are proficient in English although they lack the correct biology.
Alvin
Foghorn Leghorn
Pluto
Koko (American Sign Language)
Boo-Boo the bear
Scrappy Doo
Alf
Donald Duck
Binyah-Binyah Polywog
Boots the monkey
Mr. Ed
Helen Keller (American Sign Language)
Foghorn Leghorn
Pluto
Koko (American Sign Language)
Boo-Boo the bear
Scrappy Doo
Alf
Donald Duck
Binyah-Binyah Polywog
Boots the monkey
Mr. Ed
Helen Keller (American Sign Language)
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Alternative names for Indiana Jones
Arizona Jones
Colorado Jones
Idaho Jones
Montana Jones
Rhode Island Jones
Puerto Rico Juarez
Colorado Jones
Idaho Jones
Montana Jones
Rhode Island Jones
Puerto Rico Juarez
Learn to write well, or not to write at all.
Thanks, Sheffy. I'm trying my best.
A few days ago I was at work playing Snood instead of partaking in the fabulous world of data-entry. 5 levels in after destroying "Drop It!" with a 3300 point bonus (because really, Puzzle is the only way to go), a cute little poem to the tune of "roses are red, violets are blue" popped up on my screen with a bunch of mini Snoods marching around the words. It was then that I remembered, didn't I want to be a writer? Here I was, sitting behind a desk from 9-5 M-F, discreetly playing a rather shitty video game and it had more creativity in it's four lined poem (to get me to pay for the full version) than I have had since January.
So I decided to create a new space to unload any pieces, or pieces of pieces, or ideas about pieces for pieces, because if I really want to write, I have to start writing. So be it comedy, lists, criticisms, essays, or stories about me and my life, It'll go here. Here's to my hopefully constructive new forum.
EDIT:
December 31, 2007
It's almost 2008, and I haven't reached the double digits yet in posts. How the mighty have fallen.
A few days ago I was at work playing Snood instead of partaking in the fabulous world of data-entry. 5 levels in after destroying "Drop It!" with a 3300 point bonus (because really, Puzzle is the only way to go), a cute little poem to the tune of "roses are red, violets are blue" popped up on my screen with a bunch of mini Snoods marching around the words. It was then that I remembered, didn't I want to be a writer? Here I was, sitting behind a desk from 9-5 M-F, discreetly playing a rather shitty video game and it had more creativity in it's four lined poem (to get me to pay for the full version) than I have had since January.
So I decided to create a new space to unload any pieces, or pieces of pieces, or ideas about pieces for pieces, because if I really want to write, I have to start writing. So be it comedy, lists, criticisms, essays, or stories about me and my life, It'll go here. Here's to my hopefully constructive new forum.
EDIT:
December 31, 2007
It's almost 2008, and I haven't reached the double digits yet in posts. How the mighty have fallen.
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